Porkchops
by Kitty.M.Smith
Summary: Elliot had a borderline unhealthy obsession with pork chops. Everyone that played with him knew exactly what he was going to have for dinner before they jumped, after they jumped, during battle-god forbid they won a match, he'd be bouncing with excitement about his goddamn pork chops. Wraith was, unintentionally, about to find out one reason why.


Wraith looked around the Apex cafeteria, stabbing holes into a piece of white bread with her thumb. Anita was watching her, somewhere between disgusted with the waste and impressed with the number of holes she'd put in without the bread falling apart. When she'd reached the limit before the bread would completely lose its structural integrity, she let it flop on her tray. "Where's Elliot?"

"What, got a crush?" Anita's ever-present smirk grew. She swiped the bread and dropped it in her soup. Waste not, want not, I suppose.

"Hah. I'm bored."

Anita rolled her eyes. "At his place. Making pork chops. Wouldn't shut up about it all day."

"Cost us the match today," Gibraltar snorted.

Elliot had a borderline unhealthy obsession with pork chops. Everyone that played with him knew exactly what he was going to have for dinner before they jumped, after they jumped, during battle-god forbid they won a match, he'd be bouncing with excitement about his goddamn pork chops.

Wraith had tried to figure out the pattern to the porkchop obsession, a special occasion or a change in the weather or something, but hadn't found any. Elliot just really fucking loved pork chops. And he was really good at making them too-something about his mother's recipe, Wraith couldn't remember. But he had invited her over on a porkchop night before. Ended up being entertaining. Staring at her cafeteria tray, untouched, she thought maybe she could mooch. Wraith was nothing if not an unashamed mooch.

So, she excused herself and let Anita and Gibraltar arm wrestle for her chili. Elliot's penthouse was at the top of the residential tower. The more skilled and popular a player, the higher in the tower they lived. The bottom third was basically cannon fodder, a bunch of new starry-eyed fledglings who had three weeks to get noticed enough to keep on the show, mid-level were pretty good, top third were really good, and then the top ten were the Legends. If you were a Legend you basically had a career as long as you didn't die off-the-field or become hugely unpopular. All the Legends had their own apartments that were organized by popularity on a weekly basis through some kind of weird mechanical engineering feat, Wraith's generally near the top and Caustic's generally near the bottom. Elliot was so enormously popular he hadn't moved from the top but once or twice since joining the Apex Games. Normally his windows were wide open so he could wave at the cameras outside, but tonight the blinds were closed. Huh.

Wraith took the elevator up and, out of habit, phased through the door. Wasn't an ability she was permitted to use in the games, but damn was it convenient. Elliot's penthouse was open-concept and oddly homey, mix of white and natural wood, plush carpet and beadboard. Sort of like a modern chic farmhouse? Wraith didn't watch enough House Finders to know yet. She rounded the corner of the entrance and saw him cooking, freshly showered and dressed casually. She smiled. Her everything was a mess, but she could always be reasonably sure she could call Elliot a friend. "Hey, Elliot."

It wasn't her first-time breaking in. Normally he'd jump, turn around and grin. He jumped, turned around, and froze.

Wraith paused. "Elliot?"

"Uh, uh Wraith! Hi!" His eyes glanced around. "I uh, didn't exp-ecpec-espect-think I'd see you! Uh…"

She furrowed her brow. "Uh, something – uh should I?-" The shower turned on. Elliot made a bumbling sound and froze again. Wraith looked at the dining table a step down from the kitchen. Dim candle lighting, plates set out. She whipped her head toward a glint on the back of the couch at the end of the room. A very familiar mask. She inhaled sharply. Haha holy shit, oh my God. Had Elliot breathed? He hadn't. Wraith hadn't either. "Your chops are burning."

"Ah!" Elliot quickly flipped them, fussing.

"Elliot?" A very familiar voice shouted over the running water.

"Dr-dropped the spat-spach-the flippy thing! It's fine." He inhaled sharply and turned around. "You saw nothing."

She held up her hands. "Saying nothing. Saw nothing. Know nothing." She paused. "But how long-"

"Long enough," he jerked his head toward the mask like it should be obvious then came over and shooed her with his spatula. "They don't take long showers, get out man – please."

She was obediently shooed to the door and stepped out, then turned around. "One question."

Elliot sighed but looked at her with the one-raised-eyebrow that seemed ubiquitous in mothers losing their patience.

"Are they hot?"

Elliot paused, slowly gained a lopsided smile, and patted her cheek. "I'm gonna shoot you in the face tomorrow."

"…Do I get a pork chop if I let you do it at close range?"

Elliot furrowed his brow and sort of laughed. "Sure. Come over next week?"

"You're too nice, Elliot."

"That's how you get a penthouse, honey."

She smirked. "Please. Your ass got you your penthouse."

"Among other things."

Wraith snorted. "Enjoy your pork chops, Elliot."

"Enjoy your House Finders, Wraith."

Slightly offended and reasonably surprised, Wraith retreated to her room, uncommonly excited to get shot in the face the next day.


End file.
